Special Forces: The Operator. Cindy Dees

hand on my shoulder and put your right hand in mine.” She grasped his hand, as always stunned by the electric energy flowing from him.

      “I have to say, Rebel, I didn’t expect you to discover my real motive so quickly. This is entirely about trust. That and loosening you up a little. You are a smart one, aren’t you?”

      She might have answered, but he whisked her backward and into a whirl around the room that took her breath away. His hands moved her with effortless power, but still, she had to concentrate on relaxing and releasing the habitual tension from her body.

      Ahh, but when she did, they were suddenly dipping and swooping, turning in light, swift circles until she felt like a swallow in flight. It was actually a rather fantastic sensation. The music lifted them off their mortal feet, spinning them into a breathless world of candlelit magic.

      Or maybe it was the big, graceful man staring down at her, his eyes as dark as midnight, the expression in them bemused. If there had been any humor in his expression when they started the waltz, by the time the song ended, it was long gone.

      The music shifted into some other, more formal rhythm, and they came to a stop beside the table. His hand was warm and firm on her waist, and his fingers flexed, tightening momentarily against her side.

      He released her abruptly, stepping back almost as if startled. She knew the feeling. She was shocked to her toes. That had been an almost-sexual experience. And it had been wonderful. Which begged the question of why he’d insisted on dancing with her. Had trust and getting her to chill out been his only motives, after all? Or had he been subtly demonstrating to her that he knew how to woo a woman?

      For no doubt about it, he most definitely knew what he was doing in that department.

      It almost made a girl wonder if maybe the problem with sex in her life prior to this had been men of inadequate knowledge rather than the sex itself.

       Hmm. Sex with Avi Bronson. A suddenly fascinating concept.

      The door opened, and their waiter wheeled in a cart loaded with what turned out to be the most delectable food she’d ever tasted. Quail roasted to tender perfection with herbed skin that was crispy and savory, oyster stuffing that made her groan in delight and tender asparagus that was so fresh and light she wanted to ask for more—and she didn’t even like asparagus, normally.

      She refrained from licking her plate, but it was a struggle. She looked up at Avi in regret. “You do realize you’ve ruined me for ever enjoying an MRE again.”

      “You like dehydrated military food?” he exclaimed.

      “I did. But now... I shudder to think what it will taste like in comparison to this.”

      He smiled indulgently. “My work is done, then.”

      Something disappointed landed with a thud in the bottom of her stomach. Drat. She’d really hoped he might be interested in showing her more of these sophisticated pleasures she’d heretofore had no idea existed.

      “Why the sad face?” he asked quickly.

      “I’m sorry this meal has to end.”

      “Never fear. We have several more courses to go.”

      “Where am I going to put more food? You do realize I’m going to have to work out like mad for a week to burn off all these calories.”

      He shrugged. “I’ll go for a run with you tomorrow if you’d like. After all, it’s my fault you indulged like this. I’m obligated to help with damage control.”

      Hmm. That would be interesting. She enjoyed running and was one of the fastest Medusas. “You’re on.”

      She was done with dessert and sipping a cup of coffee so good it nearly brought her to tears when she finally remembered to ask, “By the way, what was the piece of intelligence you said you’d gotten?”

      He sighed. “And, the pleasant interlude ends. Back to business, eh?”

      She smiled a little at the disappointment in his voice. “Sorry.”

      “When you apologize like you mean it, I’ll know I’ve broken through that workaholic exterior of yours.”

      “Good luck with that.” She set down her coffee cup. “The intel?”

      “Right. A source in Tehran reports that Mahmoud has spent the past six months or so training with a team of approximately eight operatives on a military base. They were seen going in and out of mocked-up buildings repeatedly.”

      “Sounds like they were training for a specific attack,” she commented.

      “That’s how I would interpret it, as well.”

      “Any information on what the buildings looked like?”

      “No. Our source isn’t that highly placed.”

      “Still. Are you going to take me seriously now when I say I saw Mahmoud and Yousef and that I’m convinced they dumped the chlorine in the pool?”

      “I always took you seriously, Rebel.”

      “Yeah, but no one else is likely to.”

      “Do you want me to put forward your theory to the IOC security team because they would take me more seriously?”

      She sighed. “I appreciate the offer, but I expect Major Torsten will tell them about it if he thinks I’ve adequately backed up my theory with evidence.”

      “He’s a good man. He won’t take credit for your work. You’ll get the credit.”

      “Or the blame,” she added.

      Avi shrugged. “If you think you’re right, stick by your guns. Who cares if you got this one wrong? We all make mistakes from time to time. Better to be overcautious and be wrong than say nothing and have a preventable attack happen.”

      “Yes, but this is the first time the new Medusas have worked the Olympic Games. If I’m making a wrong call and people get all worked up for no reason, the egg will be on all of my teammates’ faces along with mine.”

      “You’re a team, right? Wouldn’t you suffer a little humiliation on behalf of one of your sisters?”

      “Well, yes.”

      “And they would do the same for you. Don’t second-guess yourself. Trust your gut.”

      He was right. She took a deep breath. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

      “Anytime.”

      The waiter brought back Avi’s credit card, and he signed the check quickly.

      “Do I want to know what that meal cost?” she asked.

      “No. But it was worth every shekel to watch you enjoy yourself like that.”

      Alarmed, she let him hold her chair as she stood up. Had she made a spectacle of herself? The idea sent shivers of horror across her skin. If she’d learned nothing else in her father’s repressive home, it was that women should never, ever, draw attention to themselves.

      “What were you thinking about just then?” Avi asked, startling her out of dark memories.

      “Nothing.”

      Avi responded evenly, “I’m not letting you get away with putting me off like that. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

      “Why do you care?”

      “Because it put pain in your eyes. I want to know what or who hurt you.”

      He sounded half-prepared to go out and beat up bullies on her behalf. Which was sweet. And strange. She wasn’t accustomed to any man looking out for her. In fact, she’d spent most of her adult life making sure no man needed to look out for her.

      She glanced up. He was staring down at her expectantly. He looked ready to stand there all night,